Sister of Shadows
by Logius
Summary: A young girl is given a choice: a life of loneliness or a family of killers. May push the T rating, let me know
1. Chapter 1: A Penance Repaid

**Chapter 1: A Penance Repaid**

"Does it have to be so cold?" Arissa Roshad complained. With a trembling hand she pulled her cloak tighter around her small figure. She was a wisp of a girl, small for her age of thirteen years. Of course, she blamed her father for that, since he hardly let her go out as a child. For reasons she never knew he had demanded she remain in the confines of whatever home they were residing in at the time. She hardly had any friends to speak of, never staying in any place long enough to make them. Always the odd one out with children her own age, she was forced to rely on her ever twitching father for companionship.

He was always nervous, ever since she could remember. Never once had he seen the need to explain his peculiar attitude to her, but she had always been determined to not be affected by it. It was simply his manner. Some men were drunkards, other were fools, still others were conniving, but her father was a bundle of nerves. At times she wondered if he'd tried to climb back into his mother's womb at birth.

A pang of regret shot through her when that familiar thought came to mind. Her own mother had died long before she could remember. All she had by way of memories were vague impressions of comfort and joy, sensations she had probably not felt since then. The only physical connection she had of her was a ring – one of a pair – that she wore. Not a wedding band, instead the jewelry carried a rather unique mystical enchantment. Her father wore the other of the set. Since the ring was too big for her small fingers, she wore it at all times on a chain around her neck. Whenever she felt lonely, she would clutch tightly to the golden circle and imagine being in her mother's arms again.

She had never known an extended family, and her father had always evaded any questions about her kin. Eventually she had stopped asking.

"We're only passing through, darling," Edric Roshad, Arissa's father, answered nervously. "There's a merchant caravan heading east in a few days, we'll be out of the mountains and into warmer climate soon enough. For now we must endure."

"Endure," she whispered to herself. It was a familiar mantra her father used when he was evading an explanation. From experience she knew there would be no point in asking him why they were continuing on rather than settling down for a time.

Brushing unkempt and windblown hair from her face she grumbled again at the chilling winds and blankets of snow that made up the county of Bruma. Unlike most of the inhabitants, who were smart enough to clothe themselves in heavy furs and wools, she was forced to make due with a light velvet dress, thin cloak meant mostly for rain, and oversized shirt. Although, she supposed, with her frame, just about anything she wore seemed oversized.

"I'll see what I can do about getting you some warmer clothes, though," he conceded.

She looked on at the crowd of people walking through the merchant quarter of the district. There wasn't as much of a blending of people as in the other parts of the Empire. Mostly there were Nordic folk swaggering this way and that going about their daily business. It was amazing at how acclimated they were to the weather. Several wore sleeveless shirts and coats, acting as if the snow bothered them not at all. A few Imperials and Redguards were also in the mix but there were no Argonians or Khajiit that she could see. It was unfortunate because she always held a fondness for Khajiit people.

When she was younger, during one of the rare moments they were living in a small home, she had a Khajiit friend named Shariq. Her favorite thing to do was run her fingers through the soft fur of her friend, much to the annoyance of Shariq. Inevitably, however, her father relocated them soon after and she had to say goodbye to the young girl.

Feeling a bit daring, Arissa stepped away from her father's side. She wandered around the market level, trying to discover more of the area. On the level below, she could see the local guild chapter houses. Several men dressed in impressive quality steel armor were walking in single file. At the front of them was a Nordic woman dressed in Dwarven armor. Wherever they went, the crowd parted a path and allowed them clear passage. Arissa wondered if even the City Watch would dare stand in their way. From their postures the men were familiar with their armor and seemed perfectly at ease navigating the slightly steep steps leading down toward the eastern gate. Several people nodded their greeting to the group but only a few received any acknowledgement in return.

As she skittered down the steps to the lower level, she could see several people emerging and entering the Mages Guildhall. Two of the mages, only a few years older than she was, from appearances, began walking in her direction. One of them was probably the tallest Breton she had ever seen. He stood at what had to be six feet tall and was probably the most handsome boy she had ever seen. Arissa didn't like the look in his eyes, though. One glance and she could tell that kindness wasn't second or even third nature to him.

The young Breton next to him bore more of a resemblance to their race than his friend. He was shorter and more squared off. His light brown hair was almost as messy as her own, and he was constantly brushing it out of his face only to have the wind push it right back. She could tell that he didn't have the same confidence in himself that the other one did, but his expression practically shone with kindness and affection that it made up for his below average looks. Arissa found herself transfixed by his eyes. They were the color of the sea and as bright as the sun. Even as he approached, not even her embarrassment could force her to look away.

"Hello there, little one," the boy-mage said. His voice was as soft as rose petals, and his tone was as sweet as honey. "What are you doing out by yourself?"

Unable to find her voice, Arissa merely shook her head.

Chuckling softly, the boy continued, "You should go on home, little one. Likely your parents are worried about you. And this weather is too foul for a little princess such as yourself to be out in."

She risked a glance at the taller boy, and he seemed more annoyed than concerned about her. Arissa went back to looking at the shorter boy's eyes. He helped her view by kneeling down before her.

"Do you have a home, little one?" he asked.

Arissa shook her head before she realized that she was, in fact, telling the truth.

Concern shot through his face as he examined her attire. A breeze ruffled the edges of her thin cloak and she pulled it tighter around her.

"Ah," he finally said, "but a darling princess such as yourself should have a castle."

In spite of herself, Arissa found herself smiling at his words.

"But, this isn't right," he looked annoyed. "How will others know you are a princess without your crown?"

Reaching into his robes, he drew out a small circlet made of a metal she had never seen before. It looked like silver, but the shine was too bright to fit the material. She stared at the jewelry with wide eyes. Beside him, the kind mage's companion was looking on with equal awe combined with a significant amount of ire. Ignoring his friend, the boy reached out and placed the circlet around her forehead. Pressing firmly on both sides, he molded it to her head as best he could then fixed her hair around it so that it all but disappeared from view.

"There," he said, satisfied, "now at least you'll know you're a princess even if no one else does."

With that, he winked and handed her a few coins bidding her to not let anyone see her new decoration. Arissa had no intention of showing it to anyone. She knew her father would never let her keep the item if he ever saw it.

The taller boy grumbled several remarks as they moved off into the crowd. If he heard any of it, the kind mage-boy made no indication.

Realizing that she may have wandered for too long, Arissa quickly moved back towards her father. Weaving through the crowd was simple enough – she'd always been nimble on her feet – and she soon found him in sight. She stopped well before she reached him, though and caught sight of a Khajiit man standing around the corner behind her father. He was studying him intently for some reason, and Arissa briefly worried that he might be a thief. She looked to her father with concern but when she looked back to the Khajiit he was gone. Her eyes darted from face to face, but she was unable to locate him again and walked back towards Edric still shaken from the incident.

Her father was still busy bargaining with one of the store owners for information and supplies when she returned. At least that was something her father was good at. Arissa doubted if there was a better negotiator in all the Empire. On several occasions she had witnessed his skill in procuring items for less than half their initial price and sell back lower quality merchandise for elevated prices. To top it off, at the end of the conversations each seller had thought they were the clever ones. With his talent he had managed to make their meager finances last years.

It seemed odd to her, because most Bretons were not known for their skills in speech. And the supposed true talent of her race was completely lost on her father. He had not a single ounce of magical ability in his body. Whenever she had expressed an interest in the craft he had dissuaded her efforts. He claimed that it would be too painful for him to see his daughter fail so miserably at something. The words had stung so deeply that Arissa had elected to avoid the art altogether and the subject was never broached again.

"Here, dear, put this on," Edric said as he handed her a thick robe made of light blue velvet. It rather resembled the robes she'd seen mages wear except it was missing the multitude of inner pockets where they kept their various potions and alchemical ingredients.

She removed her small cloak before donning the new clothing. It was quite new, in fact, and Arissa was amazed that her father had managed to talk the merchant down from his price. The threading was the work of a tailor with obvious skill and not a wisp of the cold air managed to sneak its way through the stitching. There was even gold colored embroidery spanning the collar and a matching belt. She hugged herself tightly as the ice was swept from her veins.

"Do you like it?" he asked.

Smiling ear to ear, Arissa looked up at her father and beamed, "Yes, father, it's beautiful!"

Nearly toppling him over, she all but tackled him in a fierce hug and kept repeating her thanks. Even the merchant – who had been quickly regretting the transaction – smiled at the sight of them.

"You look lovely, child. It suits you," the tall Nordic man commented.

"Thank you, sir," Arissa curtsied politely.

After a quick chuckle the merchant turned to her father once more, "If you need frugal accommodations then Olav's Tap and Tack has decent rooms at a fair price. Since you'll be staying several days its possible Olav will offer a discount."

"Many thanks, good sir," Edric nodded in gratitude.

The merchant had been right about Olav's generosity and later that day her father had managed to negotiate three night's stay for the price of two. As she settled into the only bed in the room – her father had elected to use a bedroll – after a hearty meal of venison stew and rice her father kissed her goodnight before heading into the common room. It was a ritual of his that he wouldn't leave the common room of the inn until all the inhabitants had either gone to their rooms or were forced out by the owner. This being Nordic country, however, Arissa knew it could be some time before he came to sleep. Nords were notorious for their love of spirits and ale.

It was something she was accustomed to, however, and she soon found herself drifting off into sleep. As was typical, her dreams were filled with visions of the happier moments of her childhood. She found herself playing the grasslands with Shariq and swimming in the cool pond near a forgotten farm. Arissa always enjoyed the outdoors, and loved to dance on the bare grass. She spun in a circle as her vision altered as her mother held her tightly and sang a haunting tune in a voice so pure and sweet that she could never hope to duplicate the melody. Playing outside once more, she could hear her father's voice calling her in.

"Arissa, dear, wake up!"

"Wha-?" Arissa sat up in bed and rubbed her eyes. "Is it morning already?"

"No, my love, but we must go, now," Edric kept his voice to a whisper.

The urgency in his voice was not disguised by the volume, however. He was scared, not nervous, not impatient, but truly frightened to the very core. Suddenly, Arissa felt her throat tighten with anxiety.

"Why do we have to go, father? It's still dark," she whimpered, trying to keep the welling tears from overflowing.

Edric abandoned his hasty packing and knelt before her. In the dim light coming from beneath the door she could barely make out his face.

With a moist hand he brushed back the hair from her small face, "I'm sorry, darling, but there's no time, we have to leave immediately. Please, get dressed, I'll gather our things."

Recognizing but not understanding the need, Arissa nodded and quickly dressed herself in her thickest clothes. If it was as late as she thought they would be dealing with the coldest temperatures of the night, and this far north, she didn't want to be caught unprepared.

Within minutes they were standing before the east gate and arguing with the guard.

"I'm sorry, sir, but my orders are to allow no one passage out of the city until daybreak," the Watchman stood, arms crossed and feet wide apart.

"What do you mean? Who gave such an order and why?" Edric demanded.

"That is none of your concern."

After a tense moment, her father accused, "They're paying you, aren't they?"

Eyes narrowing, the Watchman shot back, "I'm sure I don't know what you're referring to, sir." His expression was one of absolute resolve and Arissa doubted if even her father would be able to negotiate their passage.

Oddly, though, Edric didn't say another word, at least, none that she could hear. Instead he stared into the Watchman's eyes and whispered softly. Clutching her father's hand as she was, Arissa thought she felt a quiver run through him. Only seconds later, the guard was moving aside and unlocking the door. He had a strange look on his face and paid them no regard as they made their way into the frosty night.

More confused than ever, Arissa was about to ask her father the obvious question when a second guard approached them.

"Halt! How did you get past Windon? No one is supposed to be allowed out of the city!" the man stalked towards them, hand on his sword.

With another quiver running through his hand, Arissa's father caught the second man's eyes and stopped him in his tracks.

"You saw no one," Edric said, his voice was devoid of any emotion.

"I saw no one," the man repeated.

Not another word was spoken as the pair ran off into the north and towards the looming Jerall Mountains. He was setting a grueling pace and Arissa found herself hard pressed to keep up with her father. The cold winds were biting into her cheeks and she tried to pull the cowl of her robes more tightly in a futile attempt to block them. The rocky ground was rough on her quickly turning tender feet. Regardless, Edric kept their pace at a dead run and seemed to have an endless supply of endurance. Suddenly, just as she felt herself reaching the point of exhaustion he squeezed her hand tightly and she felt another shudder run through him.

Within seconds, she could feel the tension leaving her legs. Her aching muscles loosened but continued moving and she was gifted with a surge of relief. Though they had been running for nearly ten minutes her body felt as if they had only begun. Not sure what to make of the sensation, Arissa continued.

He was staying well off the trials, she noticed, and at one point turned around completely and began heading west. Periodically, whenever her legs threatened to give way beneath her, she would feel the wave of relief surge through her and, replenished, she was able to keep up with Edric. After a while, the sensation began to feel familiar to her.

Wondering if there was more to this than met the eye, she turned her thoughts inward and searched for the source of replenishing energy her father had been drawing upon. With her mind focused as she was, the next time Edric imbued her with relief, she followed its path. Within moments she was certain she had found it.

Like a pool of flowing water, she could feel the energy swirling. It was everywhere! Invisible to the eyes, nonetheless it was apparent to her. As she reached out with her inner self, the energy suddenly began to move towards her. Draping her in a soothing embrace, she implored upon it to relieve the ache beginning to creep its way through her legs once more. Almost as if it were eager to please her reverent tone, she felt the waves surge through her and even as her own legs regained their strength she sent another surge through her hand and into her father.

He almost fell when he turned to look at her with wide eyes. Even as they continued their exhausting pace, he stared long and hard. She couldn't help but smile at him as she realized what she had done.

It was magic! She was channeling magic! It had to be Restoration magic because… well, it was restoring her, wasn't it? Not only that, but her father was using it as well. Even though he had always claimed to have no talent in the art here he was restoring the both of them through their marathon. That had to mean he had talent, didn't it? A normal mage couldn't have done what he was doing without exhausting their ability, could they?

They continued on through most of the night, legs pumping furiously through the thickening snow. Whenever they felt the other beginning to falter, they would tap into the magic and send waves of relief to the other. On and on they went, covering one mile after another until Arissa could not even make out the light of civilization. Finally, several hours later, her father stopped in a small clearing deep in the Colovian Highlands.

Even with the magic assistance they were both exhausted and their clothing was soaked with sweat and melted snow. Gasping in and nearly chocking on the cold air, Arissa collapsed in a heap on the ground.

With gentle hands, her father laid his palms on her shoulders and she felt waves of heat sweep through her body. In seconds, the cold bite of winter was gone.

What sort of magic was this? She touched the snow beneath her with a bare hand and watched in awe as it melted away almost immediately. It was as if her very skin was on fire, but she felt no pain or fever. Her eyes looked into her father's quizzically.

"A shield of fire," he answered with a smile, "from the school of Alteration. Something I learned in the Mages Guild."

"Mages Guild," she was shocked. "But I thought you never learned to use magic."

The simple statement struck him deeply, Arissa could see that in his eyes. He looked away briefly and sighed.

"I'm sorry, Arissa. There's so much I haven't told you about your past, about me," he gritted his teeth, "and about your mother."

Arissa's eyes went wide. Her mother? What did her mother have to do with any of this?

"What about mother? Why didn't you tell me about magic? Why did we have to run away like this? Why do we _always_ run away?!"

All the questions came pouring out at once and only his finger on her lips stopped them.

"You have a right to know, you do, and in time I will tell you everything," he took her hands and stood up. "For now, though, we have to keep moving. There are people after us, bad people. I had hoped we could reach the pass to the north and run beyond their reach, but they found us in Bruma. I don't know how…"

His voice trailed off as he looked up towards the east. Eyes wide and mouth agape, he stared off into the distance and began shaking his head slowly.

"It's impossible," he whispered. "How?"

"What?" she asked, and looked behind her. When she saw no signs of anyone she turned back to her father.

Instead of explaining Edric grabbed her roughly and pushed her toward a cluster of tall brush. He sat her down and began piling snow around her trying to blend her in with the frosted vegetation. It worked fairly well especially since, in the dark light, her dress matched almost perfectly with the snow.

"Why are you-?" she started to ask, but once again he silenced her with his finger.

"Quiet, Arissa!" he whispered harshly. "Whatever happens now, you _must_ promise me that you will be quiet."

"What-?"

"_Promise me_!" he whispered again. "Promise daddy that you will stay still and stay quiet, no matter what happens!"

Not sure what to make of his tone, Arissa nodded, "I promise, daddy."

Relief sweeping through his features, Edric stood up quickly and stepped away back into the clearing. He drew an elven dagger from his boot. Arissa had seen him practicing with it on several occasions and she knew him to be skilled with the small blade. When he reached the center of the clearing, he stopped and waited.

With only the dim light of the moons to see by, Arissa could barely make out her father's features, but his stance spoke volumes of his determination. Even from where she was her senses could detect the changes in the currents of magic swirling around him. He was preparing for something and gathering all the magic he could.

It was several minutes before she saw what he had seen. From the edges of the clearing, two figures cloaked in blackness emerged from the shadows. They wore leather armor as dark as the night and each step was as silent as the moonlight on the snow. As they approached her father they separated, forcing him to turn and face only one of them at a time. Rather than fall for the ploy, Edric stood perfectly still and trusted his senses to warn of their approach.

Both stopped well before they were within striking distance. The figure on the far side of the clearing spoke.

"Where is the girl?" he asked. His voice was thick with an accent of the Heartlanders.

Silent as the night, Edric balled his fist at his side.

"You were clever to hide this long," the other spoke, an elf from the sound of his voice. "But you must know that none can evade the will of Sithis forever."

"Give us the girl and you will live through this night," his companion added.

Her father took a deep breath before answering, "Over my dead body."

With speed she had never seen – it had to be magical – he spun around in a complete circle and swung his free arm toward the elf. Shining brighter than any light she had ever seen a bolt of lightning shot forth from his fingers and struck the elf in his chest. The force of impact sent the assassin flying backwards several feet and Arissa saw his dagger fly off into the trees not far from her. As he landed hard on the ground he squirmed for several seconds before lying perfectly still. With one massive burst of magic, her father had killed one of their assailants. Of course, that meant he had used up most if not all of his reserve which left little to none for the other man.

"So the stories were true?" the first man remarked. Appearing unphased by the death of his comrade he crouched low to the ground and began creeping toward her father.

Obviously drained by the exertion, Edric was staggering on his feet slightly. He recovered fairly quickly, however, and swirled his blade around his fingers with deadly skill.

Seeing the display, the assassin slowed his approach. Rethinking his methods, he taunted her father.

"You have some skill, Spellsword," he chuckled. "And here I thought this would be a dull assignment."

In response her father lunged toward the man, blade extended. The two daggers met in quick cuts and parries. Neither man appeared to have the advantage. Arissa watched in awe as the man who had always seemed so fearful suddenly became a different man of confidence and danger. The only light came from magic as the pair lit up every time he launched another ball of fire, ice, or thunderbolt at his opponent. The bulk of each shot, however, was absorbed by two rings worn on the assassin's either hand. Arissa could see them glow bright with each hit. As the two spun, slashed and ducked they began to breathe heavier and it wasn't much longer before they leapt back from each other.

Both chests heaving for air, the assassin chose to taunt her father again.

"I've never actually killed a child before," his voice dripped with poison. "I'm curious… if her skin will melt more quickly under my blade."

Letting out a shout of rage, her father jumped forward so high he cleared the assassin's head by several feet. Somersaulting behind him, her father stabbed at the killer's back but found only air. As if expecting the tactic, the other had bent backwards at an almost impossible angle. Successfully dodging the attack, he brought his legs back over his head. Both feet landed squarely on her father's face.

Staggering back from the blow, Edric swung blindly.

His opponent rolled backwards and landed on his feet. In rapid succession he swung his left fist and spun his right leg to kick Edric in the stomach.

The assassin wasn't done with his surprises, however, and he drew a second dagger and launched it toward her father's unsuspecting form. Burying itself deep in his left shoulder, Edric cried out in pain.

He quickly drew the blade out and tossed it aside.

Rising slowly, the assassin chuckled as he stepped away.

Arissa felt her breath catch in her throat as her father began stumbling. He was trying desperately to hold his footing but it was obvious he wouldn't last much longer.

"What's the matter?" the assassin taunted again. "Getting tired?"

Edric fell to the ground in a heap. He had no magic left in him to heal and his breathing was ragged.

"Time to pay your penance, Spellsword," twirling his dagger, the man in black stepped toward his body.

The sight made her eyes go wide in fear and she realized that she may well be witnessing her father's murder.

The man turned her father over and relieved him of his weapon. Edric's body shuddered violently as the assassin drove his own dagger deep into his chest.

Tears streaming down her face, Arissa knew she had to do something or she would lose the only person in her life forever. Fear and her promise made her hesitate.

What good could she do against this man? He was strong, stronger than her father, and trained to be the perfect killer. What could a little girl do against such power? She wasn't strong enough.

It was then she realized it. She didn't need strength to save her father. Just as the assassin used stealth and tactics against her father, she could use the same skills against him.

A second time the man drove his dagger into Edric's chest.

Desperation moving her, Arissa reached out again to the magic and begged for help. She needed to sneak up on the killer, and she needed to catch him unawares.

Swirling around her once more, the mystical energy built up and swept through her body. Not understanding the sensations at first, she worried that her spell was cast in error. But her fears were abated as she saw her skin begin to fade. Just as ripples in a pool of water, her body shimmered and vanished. Around her, the night breeze blew.

She was invisible.

Realizing that she held no weapon, Arissa turned to see the second assassin's dagger lying several yards from her. With another plea to the magic, she bade the knife to come to her hand. In seconds, the dagger had crossed the distance and fell into her grasp.

Arissa knew there was no time to waste, and she quickly rose from the brush and crossed the distance to the killer. He looked up in her direction but saw nothing and went back to his dirty deed.

Before he could stab her father again, she jumped forward and wrapped her arms around his neck. With her right hand she swept the dagger deep and firmly into his throat. Showing no hesitation, she slashed the blade out wide and slipped away before he could grab at her.

Sputtering and trying desperately to stem the gush of blood from his wound, the assassin fell back off her father and rolled away.

The task done, Arissa let the magic fall away from her and she became visible once more. She had unintentionally covered her father in the other man's blood and she worked to sweep it away.

"Daddy!" she cried, the tears falling feely from her eyes. "Please, don't die, daddy! I'm sorry I broke my promise, but I'll be good from now on if you don't die! I hide wherever you say; I'll never talk to anyone! I promise, daddy!"

Blood pouring from his mouth, he couldn't respond except to pour tears of his own.

"NO!" Arissa screamed. She knew he was dying and only magic could have any chance of saving him. Desperately, she reached out with her mind and tried to draw on the energy. As she sent waves of healing energy through him, she quickly realized that he was too far gone. The poison in his system had worked its way through is heart and had done more damage that her skill could repair.

Unwilling to give up, she drew on the magic again and again, trying to repair the damage even as more appeared. The poison was working too fast!

His fingers stroked her cheek feebly, then fell away.

"Help me, daddy," she implored, her voice barely audible. "Please, help me save you!"

When she looked into his eyes again, there was no life in them.

The tears stopped flowing, and time itself seemed to stand still. Not even the night wind was audible to her ears along with the cries of the wildlife in the woods. All was silent. Only the sound of her own heartbeat roared through her senses.

Until she heard the assassin groan, that is…

All emotion gone, Arissa stood from her father's corpse and she turned to face his killer. She bent down and pulled Edric's dagger from the blood-soaked snow. Both blades in hand, she stalked toward the crawling murderer.

The ice in her veins made the night air seem warm suddenly and with each step she felt the rage build up within her small figure.

He was on his back, still trying to hold back the flow of blood from his neck while shuffling backwards. Some of the wound had actually healed and Arissa caught sight of a small vial lying empty nearby. So he had used a healing elixir? Unfortunately for him, her cut had proven to be more than it could bind. Pity that.

Panic showing on his face, the man swung wide with his own dagger.

Arissa caught the blade with her own and sliced open his wrist with her father's blade. Cutting through tendons the wound forced the weapon out of his hand. She smiled as the blood began to pour from the second cut.

He tried kicking her legs out from under her, but she met the blow with both daggers. As he tried to draw the damaged leg back, she lunged forward and stabbed one of her blades into it. She struck with so much force that the weapon pierced bone and dug deep into the ground, pinning the appendage in place.

The assassin tried to scream, but his cry sounded more like a watery gasp.

She reached for the magic again and called into the very earth for help. Suddenly, roots sprung forth from the ground and wrapped themselves around his free leg. He leaned forward and tried to pull his leg free.

While he was distracted, she used her free hand, balled up a fist, and swung hard at his nose. As he fell back she straddled his chest and brought her father's dagger edge-first against his exposed throat. With cold determination, she threw her weight down and pushed the sharp blade down through his neck.

He tried grabbing at her with his good hand and even found her own throat at one point, but her progress was deep enough to steal the strength from his grasp. Eyes wider than she thought humanly possible, he looked at her in shock.

When she was halfway through his neck, he began to convulse violently; which annoyed her to no end because it made her work more difficult. Undeterred however, she continued until the blade cut through his spine and hit the frozen earth.

Finally, his body lay still. She reached out then, grasped the head by its hair, and lifted it free. Disgusted by the sight of the killer's face, she tossed it aside. It landed somewhere in the brush with a soggy thump.

She thought she heard a whisper in the air, and quickly turned to survey the area. When she saw no one for several minutes she allowed herself to relax.

After looking over the body one last time, she turned back to her father. Still finding no tears, she knelt beside him and straightened his limbs. Closing his eyes and mouth, she went and found his bedroll and covered him. Suddenly concerned that some animal might come by and desecrate his body, she clutched his dagger tightly to her chest and lay beside him.

Arissa knew that she was alone now. Her father would never be there to take care of her again. He was dead, and she was alone.

With no regret, Arissa undid the clasp of her cloak and shrugged off her robes. She undressed until she was wearing nothing but her shift. Immediately, she felt the freezing air of the winter night attack her skin. Settling down next her father's body once more, she closed her eyes and waited for the inevitable. Sleep soon fell upon her.

_Her dreams were filled with tormented images. Flashes of fire and ash, sounds of metal hitting metal, and screams of people plagued her. She saw visions of a stag running through a burning field and a giant skull made of dripping ash and eyes of fire. A hand draped in shadows reached for her but was pulled away as a wolf with glowing white fur appeared and snapped violently. The images rolled back and forth but neither held for long._

_The forest itself seemed to come alive as tree branches swung wide but they were all wilted away by flame. The skull looked at her and reached out once more, but again, the wolf appeared and chased it away._

_Fire blazed all around her, reducing the trees to cinders, but more came to replace them. Rain fell in torrents, but could not douse the flames that had taken hold. In the distance, she could hear animals calling._

_Figures in black stalked about in the blaze, unaffected by the heat. One by one, she could see the creatures of the forest come forth into the flames. Each was met by a shadowy figure. Some never saw their killers, so intent were they on reaching her, and others managed to vanquish a few of their opponents, but all fell before coming close. The ashen skull screamed in rage and stalked toward her, two arms extended._

_She actually reached forth to meet him, but the wolf leapt between them, snarling. Falling back, Arissa watched as the two figures stalked around each other. The ash swung but missed as the nimble creature dodged. The wolf countered by intensifying its glow and as the light shone forth, the black figure stepped back in fear._

_But it was not beaten; all around the robed figures emerged from the flames and attacked the wolf. Several of the figures were taken down by various animals braving the burning brush, but most made it into the fray. Outnumbered, the wolf spun around, trying to fend off the attacks, but to no avail. Taking advantage of the distraction, the ash figure stepped toward Arissa once more._

Her eyes snapped open suddenly. She was back in the clearing lying next to her father's body. All over, her body ached from the cold, but she no longer felt the cold wind.

As she turned her head, she realized that she was covered by a thick blanket made from bear skin. Sitting up, she pulled the cover tightly around her and looked around. Standing several feet away from her was a man clothed in black robes. Beside him was a roaring fire.

At the edge of the woods, a stag appeared and pawed at the ground loudly. It looked directly at her before shaking its head.

Curious about its behavior she frowned.

He walked towards her and extended his hand. In her mind, she flashed back to her nightmare and the skull of ash.

"Welcome back, child," the man said.

Her mouth was oddly dry, but Arissa managed to croak out, "Who are you?"

He smiled, before responding, "My name is Lucien Lachance, dear child, and I come to offer you a choice. It is a chance to begin anew. To be with those who would fill the love lost."

She felt the tears beginning to fall again. As Arissa took his hand, the stag ran off into the woods and let loose a haunting cry.


	2. Chapter 2: Fateful Words

**Chapter 2: Fateful Words**

"I have fought mudcrabs more fearsome than _you_," the Khajiit boy cooed.

The two teens circled in the small chamber, each sizing up the other. They were armed with ordinary daggers and garbed in the most basic of clothing. The purpose of this test was to determine their efficiency in close-quarters combat, and so they had been stripped of all enchanted items and forced to drink potions which practically eliminated their ability to use magic. As with most "training sessions" within the Dark Brotherhood they knew this test would prove fatal to one of them.

Arissa winced when she placed pressure on her right leg. Her opponent had scored first blood early on in their match. The deep gash on her thigh was bleeding freely and she was staggering more and more. Her face was twisted in pain, and he was just biding his time now, waiting for her to drop her guard once more.

She felt cheated, to some degree. Khajiit were naturally more suited to this form of combat than other races. Their nimble legs and fast reflexes made them perfect assassins. Plus they had matched her against a male who had already begun puberty. He had shown considerable aggression and an uncanny ability to dodge her first barrage of attacks. Given time, he would probably gain more skill and become a deadly member of the family. It was a shame wits weren't as sharp as his reflexes.

Taking another step to her right, she let out a whimper as her right leg seemed to crumple beneath her weight. Seeing an opening, the Khajiit raised his weapon high overhead, lunged forward with all his awe inspiring speed, and aimed his dagger straight for her heart.

Instead of falling, though, she dropped into a perfect roll and doubled the distance between them even as his blade struck the ground where she should have been. Recklessly, he had thrown his full force behind the blow using both hands to force the dagger deep. Realizing her ploy too late, he could do nothing to stop his momentum and fell forward in a clumsy heap. As the weapon struck the hard, brick floor the impact shattered the blade.

Seizing the advantage, Arissa took a quick step toward the Khajiit and kicked his bent-over form in the face. She was only glad that he hadn't opened his mouth or she might have lost a toe or two to his sharp fangs.

He recovered swiftly, to his benefit, and found his footing quickly enough. In typical male fashion he tried to shrug off the blow, but she could see he was having trouble with his left eye.

"Is that the best you can do!" he shouted.

"No," Arissa shot back.

She dove into a roll once more and covered the distance between them in the blink of an eye. Landing less than a foot in front of him she continued to roll forward as she threw out her fist with all the strength she could muster. Her aim was perfect and the Khajiit grunted as he fell forward with both hands grabbing between his legs. His own body weight lent her the strength to drive her own blade deep into his chest.

As he lay atop her, the life flowing out of him, she whispered sweetly in his ear, "But you don't really require my best."

In response he only let out a final sigh of breath before his limbs went limp. She could feel the moisture of his blood dripping down her dagger and soaking her shirt and skin.

With a mighty heave she managed to roll the corpse off before she suffocated under the load. When she looked up from an inspection of her wound Lucien was standing before her. He was smiling down at her small form, pride full on his face.

After dropping to one knee he laid his warm hands on her wounded leg. She felt the familiar chill of healing magic course through her and watched as the cut closed shut. Soon enough, there wasn't even a trace of a scar.

Two of Lucien's skeleton guardians came into the room and proceeded to drag the Khajiit corpse out of the room. She looked on as they went about their work with no sympathy or remorse in her eyes. A short time later they were alone and Lucien bent down to kiss her forehead.

"You have done well, daughter," he said. "Go now and enjoy the outside air. Return before sunrise and tomorrow we shall continue your training."

She hugged him tightly before running to her private corner of the fort to wash and change. Minutes later she had climbed up the hidden exit and was standing outside Fort Farragut. Her eyes shut instinctively as the glare of the sun accosted her senses. It wasn't midday yet, and the sky was clouded over but the light still stung her eyes.

After becoming accustomed to the outer illumination she took in the scenery and breathed deep the sweet forest air. Above her on the third branch from the left, were two songbirds, and they filled the mid-morning with their sweet melody. Seventy yards to her right a group of three deer looked up, ears twitching.

Less than three hundred yards to the west, and in front of her, were the gates of Cheydinhal. It was in that direction she ran, her small feet stepping so lightly that she hardly disturbed a single fallen leaf. Behind her she heard Shadowmere neigh in disappointment that they would not be riding today. She fully intended to make it up to the horse, but Lucien was still cross with her for disappearing with the mare for nearly a full day over a month ago. Although it hadn't been entirely her fault since Shadowmere had practically refused to stop her dead run until well after the sun had gone down. When she had finally managed to coax the undead steed back to the fort Shadowmere had been less than eager to return.

It was her father's own fault. Lucien hardly rode her anymore, and horses – even undead ones – liked to run. They became restless after a while and needed to expend their energy. At least that's what Shadowmere had told her.

Still some distance away from the walls, she ducked behind a shrub and inspected the area. It was rare that anyone used the gate, except for the occasional mage looking to gather ingredients. Because of this, the doorway was usually unguarded from the exterior. Even so, her training required her to ensure there were no idle eyes to watch her approach.

When she reached the gate, Arissa looked around for the familiar protruding bricks. Once she found them, the small girl leapt up and caught hold. With remarkable agility and strength, she pulled herself up and onto the next position. Inch by inch she made her way up the nearly sheer wall and onto the battlements above.

Taking care to check for patrolling guards, she hoisted herself over the wall and landed nimbly on the walkway. She lay flat against the stone path and made sure none had witnessed her ascent before continuing. Only after she was certain there were no lingering eyes, she rose to her feet, and took two quick steps before jumping the thirty feet to the nearest rooftop. After a tense few seconds, she listened for footsteps before jumping to the next house.

When she had jumped to the third rooftop, Arissa finally stopped her expedition and slid down over the rear edge of the house. Several boards covered most of the windows and doors, but one porthole had just enough room for the body of a dainty teenage Breton girl. With a maneuver that would make any acrobat envious the little girl glided off the rooftop and through the small opening.

She landed silently on her small feet inside the second floor of the dilapidated structure. As silent as a mouse, she skittered down to the main floor and into the basement. Although there was little chance anyone would see her every so often transients found their way into the building. Rather than risk running into one of them unawares, she continued to use her skills to dart from shadow to shadow until she found a doorway bathed in a red glow.

Etched into the door was an ancient scene from a culture long dead. Four figures cowering from a fifth with an enormous skull figure observing from above. In the center of the skull's forehead was the Black Hand symbol of the Dark Brotherhood. The image was so familiar to her that she resisted the urge to slap her palm against the skull's forehead for the hundredth time and made her way through the passage to the hidden chambers beyond.

Once inside the Dark Brotherhood's Cheydinhal Sanctuary Arissa did not let up her sneaking one bit. Grinning impishly she made her way around and past several of the inhabitants.

Some of them were conversing about their latest exploits. Others were discussing techniques employed by their brethren. Still others were blathering on about the latest gossip going about the Empire. Not a one of them suspected there was a new presence amongst their group.

Finally, she found her destination and grunted as she pushed open the heavy door guarding the room beyond. With a quick glance to ensure none had seen her approach she pulled shut the door once more.

Arissa fell to a low crouch as soon as the door had been closed. She looked around and smiled at the familiar surroundings. There was a small desk with parchment and writing implements that made her wrinkle her nose as she recalled the hours she had spent improving her penmanship. Sitting atop a small table were two bottles of red liquid that she knew were not filled with wine.

Satisfied there was nothing new worth investigating, she made her way to her right and toward the sleeping figure lying atop a marble slab. He moved not a centimeter as she approached. His chest did not rise and fall with even the lightest of breaths as he slept. To any unfamiliar with the occupant it would appear they were looking upon a corpse.

Arissa knew better.

With a soft tilt of her head she looked at the man's pale face and was reminded for a moment of a life she had left behind. Light brown hair, strong cheekbones and pronounced jawline all resembled those Edric had been born with. A tear worked its way down her cheek and she quickly wiped it away.

Showing no sign of hesitation, Arissa climbed up on the stone bed and lay next to the prone figure. For some time she laid there and clutched the figure with her face buried in the space between his arm and chest. With each passing second she became more aware of his cold limbs. That too brought back memories she preferred to leave buried, but she did not shy away from the sensation. Instead, she nestled in closer and buried her face deeper. Eventually, an icy arm moved up and cradled her small shoulders.

"If you were anyone else, I would likely have killed you," the man whispered in a familiar accent. "In fact, I am still considering that course of action."

"Then who would you get to rearrange Antoinetta's footlocker every evening?" she asked with a smile, her voice muffled by his shirt.

"It would not be difficult to find another sister or brother who is equally irate toward her," he shot back.

"I'm sure," she scoffed.

Still clutching the undead man, Arissa adjusted herself several times before complaining.

"Your mattress is lumpy," she said in a sardonic tone.

"I find it to be quite comfortable."

"Only because they hadn't invented beds when you were born," she grinned.

In response, Vicente chuckled and held her tighter. He paused a moment before speaking again.

"It cannot be nightfall _already_," he said with a yawn.

She shook her head, face still buried and replied, "I finished my lessons early. Lucien let me go for the rest of the day. It's barely mid-morning."

"And you dare to disturb the rest of a vampire?" he asked playfully.

"I dare and delight," she responded.

Vicente chuckled softly at their familiar banter.

"Did anyone see you?" he asked.

"No," she mumbled, "not a soul."

"Amazing," he whispered. "Only fifteen and you can evade even the most skilled eyes."

She wasn't as impressed with her stealth as much as he was. It wasn't very difficult to sneak past people when they were so busy ignoring you. All she had to do was bide her time until the moment presented itself. Everyone, even assassins let their guard down at one point or another, it was just a matter of having the patience to wait for that chance.

Of course, there was one member who never failed to catch her in the act.

"Ocheeva wasn't in the Sanctuary." 

He chuckled again before answering, "Yes, that's right, I had forgotten. Our Shadowscale sister and brother have business in the Imperial City, from what I have heard."

"She's the only one who ever notices me," she admitted.

"I doubt she is likely to say anything to Lucien."

"I know," Arissa agreed. "All she ever does is look at me and smile."

Lucien had berated her in the past from entering the Sanctuary unattended. She was only supposed to come when there was official business for her to do. Otherwise she was supposed to stay out until he had declared her training complete. For some reason he did not want her mixing with the other brothers and sisters. Whenever she asked, her father would only say it would make things more difficult should circumstances continue. Lucien could be as cryptic as Edric at times, but at least her new father answered when she asked a question.

"So what brings you into the den of the undead today, dear child?"

"You said you would show me more Illusion magic," she reminded him.

"Ah yes, that is correct. So what would you like to learn today, dear little sister?"

Arissa thought a moment before answering, "Can you teach me to vanish?"

Vicente shook his head, "I am afraid it will be some time before you are capable of such a spell. To mask one's presence through magic, even for a short time, is no small task. It requires focus and a clever mind."

"I'm not clever?" she asked with eyes full of innocence.

"You are devious, dear sister," he replied with a small nudge. "There is a difference."

Arissa grinned.

"I've done it before," she said a moment later.

"Perhaps," he conceded, "however there is also a difference between calling forth a spell out of desperation and doing so upon will. You were lucky the spell did not misfire and take your life. Magic can be very unforgiving to the uninitiated."

"I was able to pick up Restoration easily enough," she contested.

Vicente smiled at her rebelliousness, "Yes, however Restoration deals mostly with the body and its functions. Your body knows how it is supposed to function and therefore can guide your hand as you work the magic. Wounds will heal of their own volition given time, all the magic does is simply speed up the process.

"Illusion deals not with your own perceptions and self, but with those of others. You are, in essence, projecting your will upon the outer world. Invisibility requires the caster to fool an opponent mind into not just _thinking_ that they are not there, but tricking their very senses into not seeing or hearing them either. It requires incredible force of will and focus. A trained mind could penetrate the spell should they truly wish."

"How is that different from Destruction?" she asked. Destruction, particularly lightning, had become almost second nature to her. Even Lucien had commented on her talent with the craft.

"With Destruction magic you are imposing your will upon the elements," Vicente explained. "The elements of nature do not possess a will of their own. However, as with anything in the natural world learning to properly manipulate them to perform _our_ will takes practice and patience. It is the school of magic which claims the most lives of amateur mages. One misstep or loss of concentration and the magic can turn against you with fatal consequences."

Arissa considered his words and was grateful once more that she had someone like Vicente to properly teach her the ways of magic. All the years of her youth she had been denied the chance to study only to discover that she had a natural talent for the arcane arts. Lucien had joked that she had to have been born of a magical womb to be as familiar with the schools as she was.

Of course, she wished that Lucien could be her teacher in the ways of the mystical as well. Unfortunately his skills with the craft were fairly limited. He was extremely skilled at Illusion, but the other schools were not well known to him. It was his decision to send her to Vicente to learn magic. Although she was the one who decided her learning should take place as often as possible. Lucien had only scheduled her to attend sessions twice a week.

Fortunately Vicente had recognized her skill as well and hadn't rejected her attempts at accelerated learning. He had been willing to risk Lucien's disfavor but she suspected if Ocheeva hadn't been favorable to their arrangement then Vicente would have refused her request. Arissa had asked him if there would be consequences should Lucien discover their activities, but he had laughed away her concerns.

"Fine," she finally agreed. "Show me how to see in the dark, then."

Vicente smiled again and rose from his stone bed. He circled the small room, blowing out candles as he went until all but one was extinguished. That last he left on a table at the far end of the room. She couldn't make out his actions as his body obscured the small bit of light left, but when he turned away, there were several obstructions blocking the light from reaching much beyond its little corner. As the room fell into blackness she inhaled slightly. She had never been in his room with no light before and felt partly unnerved by the experience.

When Vicente began making his way back to her she could see his eyes glowing faintly. They had a blue hue to them and she knew that he was already using the magic to find his way back to her on the slab.

"Alright then," he said as he sat next to her, "the magic of Night-Eyes has nothing to do with forming light of your own to see. That is the realm of Illumination. Instead you are using magic to bring forth every bit of available light until your eyes see every detail just as they would in daylight. That is to say, the magic is purely internal."

"Is that better?" she asked.

"For two reasons," he instructed. "One, you are not creating artificial illumination by which others may gain sight of you."

Arissa nodded, realizing the logic.

"Two, because the magic is internalized it is more difficult for a magic-sensitive to detect the spell in effect."

"And the tradeoff?" she asked. There was always a tradeoff where magic was concerned. A weaker spell usually could be sustained longer, stronger spells required greater forces of concentration, and so on.

"The disadvantage is that because you are, in essence, forcing your vision to perform beyond its normal limits it can be fairly straining on your eyes. There is usually a period of disorientation as the spell is cast and as the effect begins to wear off."

"How much disorientation?"

"That depends on the skill of the caster," he explained. "Also, the after-effects become familiar with time and therefore less impeding."

Arissa nodded. Practice and skill… it always came down to that.

"Are you ready to begin?" Vicente asked.

"Yes," she answered and closed her eyes to focus on the magic. Even after all their sessions together, she still needed a moment to collect herself before sensing magic. Wistfully, she remembered how the magic had permeated her very body and had done her will without question. It had been so easy then, but, as Vicente loved to remind her, desperation can push people to accomplish the impossible. How wonderful it would be to command magic on that level at will. Was that how the masters worked the arts?

Shaking her head, Arissa tried to clear her mind of distractions.

_Reach for the magic,_ she thought. _Focus on that and nothing else._

After what seemed like an eternity, she began to feel the presence in the room. The currents flowed in and around everything in the room permeating their very essences. It was a part of all things, and through it they were all connected. With a mental hand she reached for currents and bade them to answer her call.

Immediately, she could tell something was wrong. Although she could see the currents flowing around her, when she reached out, they were slow to heed her. Normally they moved like wisps of wind, but around her thoughts it was more like thick mud.

Again and again she reached out to the currents and each time they failed to respond correctly. As beads of sweat began to form on her brow from the extended effort, she felt the panic begin to rise in her. Had she lost her connection? Why wasn't it answering her?

Arissa's mind raced as she tried to reason out the problem. Slowly, a strange sensation began to form in her mind.

She felt thick… whatever that was supposed to feel like. It was as if her brain was coated with a layer of molasses, and her movements were being subverted by the material. What could be causing it?

Briefly she wondered if Vicente was intentionally restricting her attempts. Such spells were possible, she knew. He'd told her of several high-ranking mages who could actually drain their opponent's ability to use magic.

_Drain magic?_ she thought. Why did that strike a chord in her mind?

Suddenly, it came to her. The elixir! Before her last training session Lucien had forced her to drink a mixture that was supposed to impede her casting abilities. Knowing her father's skill in the arts of Alchemy she hadn't even tried to combat the potion during her match with the Khajiit. So this is how it worked?

Now realizing the limiter's presence, she wondered how she could bypass its effects. Of course, she should have just asked Lucien for the antidote before leaving the fort, but the thought hadn't even crossed her mind at the time. It wasn't a mistake she was going to make again, but other than going back and asking for it – which would raise too many questions from him – how could she eliminate it?

Arissa began to worry that her session with Vicente would have to be cut short. While it was possible her instructor could concoct a potion to help alleviate the symptoms, without knowing what components Lucien had used to begin with would equate it to a single stitch on a gushing wound.

"Any obstacle is merely a test of your skills," she heard Lucien's words echo in her head. "Overcome or fail… the choice is your own."

_Alright,_ she grumbled. _Fine, then. If that's how you want it._

Arissa took a deep breath in preparation for the task ahead. If she couldn't use Alchemy to overcome this obstacle, then she would use magic. Vicente had told her it was possible to use Restoration magic to counter act the effects of poison. Although, according to him, it was something only possible to students who had all but dedicated themselves to that particular school. But how hard could it be? She had a knack for Restoration, after all.

It should be easy. Sure. Why not?

_Alright, magic_, she said to herself. _I need this pois-_

The thought hadn't even finished in her mind when she felt a torrent of magical energy surge through her body. Her eyes popped open and she watched the room come to life. The shadows disappeared in an instant as every detail in the chamber focused. She could see everything so clearly! Even the smallest particles of dust became apparent to her enhanced vision.

But it was different. There was no color to any of it, she realized. It was as if the essence had been sucked out of the world. While she could clearly see details, there was no life to the images in her eyes. All of it seemed dead, as if it weren't an image at all but the afterthought of what once was there. If only there was color… Slowly, her body began to glow with an eerie light of its own. Without her realizing it, the magic rushed into the spell.

"Arissa," Vicente startled her, "what are you-!"

His question ended in a shout of pain as he leapt and threw his body against the far wall. Not understanding, she stood up and walked towards him even as her body blazed with a light that stung even her own eyes. Squinting against the glare of her own skin, she realized why Vicente had run.

With her mouth agape in horror she could only watch as his skin began to curl away and turn to ash. His hands were stretched out before him as he tried in vain to fend off the searing illumination that was setting fire to his whole body.

She couldn't stop it! All of her previous attempts at reaching for the magic had built up a whirlwind of energy. When she had finally purged her body of the poison the stored energy had been let loose with a fury. Now the mystical energy was pouring through her and she felt as if any moment she might be swept away in the raging river of magic.

Fear gripped her even more when she realized that her loss of control was going to be the death of her brother. Even as she tried to calm the roaring currents Vicente's tissue was quickly flaking off. She watched helplessly as his hands lost their skin, then even the muscles below began to flare with the mystical burns and were reduced to ash.

The door burst open suddenly and M'raaj-Dar raced into the room. Seeing his brother's plight, he looked at Arissa with hateful eyes and charged toward her.

"Traitor!" he shouted and swung his fist straight for her face.

Frozen with shock, she could only stare as his blow approached. The last thing she heard was a dagger being drawn from its sheath.

She didn't know how long she lay there unconscious, but when she awoke some time later, Vicente was cradling her in his arms and whispering softly into her ears.

"It is alright, dear sister," his breath was cool against her skin. "I am fine. Come back to us, sister. Come back to us."

He kept repeating the words over and over like some strange mantra. There was a strange moisture building on her cheek as he spoke.

"Vicente?" she croaked. Her throat was parched and she fell into a coughing fit when she tried to swallow her own spit for moisture.

"I am fine, sister," he wept. "You had me frightened for a moment. I had thought we lost you."

"What?"

When Arissa opened her eyes, she realized that there was a large cut in her shirt. Strange, she didn't remember ripping it on anything. Oddly, the tear was perfectly formed, with no fraying along the edges.

"You could have killed her!" Vicente shouted, suddenly enraged.

She looked over at M'raaj-Dar as he stood in the doorway, a murderous look on his face.

"She almost killed _you!_" he hissed back.

"I told you it was an accident!"

"So you say," the Khajiit growled. "But I say your judgment is impaired. For too long have you allowed Lucien's little puppet to reign unchecked. I do not trust this one! She has a foul smell about her."

"Stay your foolish tongue, M'raaj," Vicente warned.

Arissa looked at the Khajiit and saw the dagger in his hand. The long blade was covered in fresh blood, and as it dripped a small pool had formed next to him. Her eyes went wide when she realized the source of the blood.

Slowly Vicente released her and they both stood. Embarrassed by her appearance, Arissa tried to hold her sliced clothing together as best she could. Her feet were shaky and she looked down to see most of her lower body was covered in blood. How deep had he cut her?

"When the others hear of this-!" he started to say.

"You will tell the others nothing!" Vicente shouted as he turned to face the beast-man. "You will tell them nothing, _Assassin_."

By evoking the other's rank, Vicente had used his own position to enforce his words. Even with the weight of his ranking, though, M'raaj-Dar was not deterred.

"Ocheeva_will_ hear of this," the mage growled.

Vicente's eyes narrowed to small slits and he stood very still. Arissa could feel the magic in the room slowly beginning to gather around them.

When her vampire brother spoke again, his voice was sinister, "Very well. Have it your way."

Arissa gripped Vicente's shirt tightly with her small hand. Her heart was pumping so hard she thought it would burst out of her chest.

"I am curious to know how Lucien will react," Vicente said slyly. "It will be interesting to see how he will respond to your attempt to kill… how did you put it… _his little puppet_? Yes, it will be interesting indeed."

She didn't think it was possible for the color to leave a Khajiit's face, but Arissa could swear that M'raaj's face went white.

"Of course you may not necessarily fear his retaliation," Vicente continued before the other man could respond. "After all, we all know how forgiving Lucien can be. He has always had a kind heart, has he not?"

M'raaj's tongue slid out to lick his nose briefly but his eyes never left Vicente's. She could see him thinking. Trying to think of a way to turn her in without risking his own hide. He swallowed hard and Arissa saw as he tried to hide the dagger behind his back.

When he finally did look away it was only to stare at her with a deadly gaze.

"I trust we understand each other," Vicente's voice drew him back.

Instead of answering, the Khajiit mage turned and stalked off.

When he was out of sight Vicente used his magic to pull the doors shut and throw closed the lock. Quickly, he dropped to his knees and looked her in the eye.

"Are you well?" he asked, desperately.

Still stunned by what she had just witnessed, Arissa only nodded.

"That is a miracle in itself," Vicente shook his head. "You lost a significant amount of blood."

"How did you?" she whispered once she found her voice again.

"Had I been even a moment longer in responding, you may very well have been lost. M'raaj-Dar would have disemboweled you had I not stopped him," he explained. "He very nearly did, in fact."

She looked down at the cut in her shirt and saw the small scar that ran down most of her torso. A shudder went through her body as she considered the possibilities.

"Where were the others?" she asked.

"By Sithis' blessing," Vicente smiled, "the main area of Sanctuary was empty except for M'raaj. Gogron is deep in his practice in the training room and the others have gone out for the day."

"Vicente, what happened?" Arissa asked as her hands began to shake.

He held her in his cold arms before replying, "The spell misfired, that is all. I had told you that magic can turn on you if you are not careful."

"Misfired? Are you sure?"

"Yes," he spoke in a strange voice.

When he pulled back she could see there was more in his eyes, but she didn't press him any further. All she did was nod and went back to pulling her shirt closed.

Only then did he seem to realize the condition of her clothing. He moved to his wardrobe and searched its contents until he found something she could wear. When she had changed out she couldn't help but feel foolish as the oversized clothes hung off her small body. Her left shoulder had an annoying tendency to slip through the neck and she had to bundle the waistline of the trousers into a knot just to keep them from slipping down. Miserably, she looked up at him and grumbled as he tried to hide his chuckling.

With a new purpose, he turned and swept his arm across the room. She felt magic working and was impressed as the blood that had begun to dry on the floor rose off the stone and floated into a ball. He looked around briefly and pulled out two empty bottles of wine. With a flick of his wrist, he sent the blood flying into the two bottles and, after re-corking them, he placed them in a drawer.

"I will empty them into the creek after nightfall," he said.

She shook her head and replied, "Keep it."

"What?"

With a gesture to his scorched fingertips she explained, "An apology. I know it must have hurt you and you'll need it to help heal."

He hugged her again, and kissed her forehead.

"I am sorry you had to be put through this," he whispered.

"It's my own fault," she almost sobbed. "I lost control of the magic. You were right, I'm not ready to be a mage."

Vicente was silent for a moment as he considered her words.

His response was filled with comforting, "You are not to blame, little sister. I should have taken precautions of my own. It was my own failing that led to this. You need not trouble yourself with such thoughts."

"I could have killed you," she wiped a tear from her eye.

She noticed then that his own eyes were stained with dried tears of blood.

"But you did not," he reminded her. "I know that you would never intentionally hurt me, would you?"

"Never," she breathed and hugged him tightly. "I would _never_ hurt you, my brother. Not if the Speaker himself told me to."

* * *

**Author's Note: **I went through several versions of this chapter before settling on this one. Even so, I'm still not quite satisfied with it. I would welcome any suggestions.


	3. Chapter 3: A Life of Darkness

**Chapter 3: A Life of Darkness**

"Darn rats," the Orc sentry complained, "always scurrying in the shadows."

Standing from his seat by the fire to scout the perimeter, the mercenary's metal boots scraped loudly on the stone floor of the long abandoned fort. He took several noisy steps before stopping to listen. Other than the crackling of the fire and his heavy breaths, there wasn't a sound to be heard.

"You're far too jumpy, Mogar," his Altmer companion joked. "From the way you've been sleeping, I would think _you're_ the one with a price on his head!"

"Laugh all you want, Elthara," he warned, "but anyone coming for Ilstor's head is coming through us first."

The Mer woman sobered up at the statement. She crooked an ear and crouched low by the fire to pull one of the burning logs free. Striding up to her cohort the battlemage lifted the makeshift torch high and scanned the area.

"I didn't hear anyone come in," she looked to the Orc.

"Neither did I," he sighed. "It's probably just a rat. J'rissa has been having a time of it trying to hunt them down. For every two she kills three more seem to pop up."

"There's probably a nest somewhere," she reasoned, "or maybe even several judging from the condition of this place."

"I'll be happy when Hothis shows up with the horses," Mogar said.

"I'll be happy when we drop this fool off in Anvil and collect the rest of our fee," Elthara added. "I've never tangled with the Dark Brotherhood before, and I'm not too keen on starting now."

"It's not natural, what they do. I've heard talk that their assassins can stand ten paces away from a man and he would never know they were there."

"Then come back by the fire where we can at least _see_ someone coming," the Altmer woman suggested.

The Orc nodded and turned back to the small fire they had lit to cook their evening meal. As the two sentries settled back down and returned to their dinner the figure standing flat against a pillar not ten feet from them slid their head around the corner.

Arissa smiled at the truth of their words, but if the Orc thought he would ever see her coming, then he was sadly mistaken. Slowly she allowed gravity to pull her flat to the ground, and with no more than a hint of a whisper, she practically slithered her way across the small room and towards the darkened hallway beyond.

_Silent as a shadow, daughter,_ she heard Lucien's voice in her head.

He had spoken the phrase as if it was to be her own private mantra and she had taken it to heart. Where some of her family chose magic or brute force as their tools, she opted for a more subtle approach. Stealth was her true weapon, and none of the others had mastered it as she had.

Just one year under her new father's tutelage had given her enough skill to evade notice from all but the most determined eyes. After three, none could find her unless she willed it so. Not even Ocheeva, one of the most skilled of her sisters, was able to detect her presence anymore. She could come and go without a trace. Most of her contracts had lost their souls to Sithis without ever knowing she was there.

Even now, as she made her way through the ruined fort and towards her latest mark, not one of inhabitants had detected even a hint of her presence. Not even the damned rat that scurried past her as she reached the next room saw her.

She had considered killing the cursed creature, but quickly decided against it. It would be unfortunate if someone were to stumble upon her fresh kill and wonder who had been responsible. Her approach was more conservative. Kill only what needed to be killed, no more, no less. Only those souls she deemed worthy would be sent to Sithis, and Arissa was certain the Dark Father was satisfied with those she had gifted him.

The first she had ever claimed was that of Marcus Borrano. He'd been an Imperial and a member of the Brotherhood for over twenty years. According to Lucien, Marcus had been responsible for over one-hundred and fifty souls given over to the void. Known as one of the deadliest Assassins of the Brotherhood he had met his end at the hands of a scrawny fourteen-year-old Breton girl. Worse, he'd been taken by a fourteen-year-old that looked twelve.

Five long years had passed since that night. Not so long for some, but it was a lifetime to Arissa. She could barely remember anything of that little girl, shivering in the snow. It was difficult to believe she had ever been that weak.

As heavy footsteps came clanking down the corridor she quickly flattened against the wall and turned her head. With so much decay, there were large portions of brick that had crumbled so it was a small matter to blend in with the uneven structure. Although she could not see the person her nose told her it was another orc approaching her position.

The cadence of the steps told her it was a woman, and one well trained in the art of combat. Most of them appeared so if their armor and weapons were any indications. Her mark must have spent a significant amount of coin to hire so many and Arissa briefly wondered what he could have done to warrant her presence.

That did not matter, of course. It was not her place to question the reason for the Brotherhood's involvement. They had been contacted and contracted in accordance with their precepts. Once a contract was paid, it was guaranteed. The circumstances of the situation were of no real interest to her… mostly, anyway.

It was allowed, within their guidelines, for a brother or sister to abstain from a contract if they so desired. Arissa had made it very clear from the beginning that she would not kill children. Her stipulation was of no real concern because there was no shortage of other family members who held no such restrictions in their services. Once accepted, however, a contract had to be fulfilled regardless of the circumstances. To default on a contract was to invite the wrath of Sithis. Failure could only mean that you were already dead. To die in service of the Brotherhood was a preferable end that they all desired.

When the orc woman turned the corner and began conversing with Elthara and Mogar, Arissa knew it was safe to continue. Using slow and deliberate movements she dislodged herself from the crumbling wall and stepped lightly onto the stone floor. Her leather boots made no sound as she inched closer to the door at the end of the corridor.

Carefully, she pressed her ear against the rotting wood and listened for more footsteps. With her eyes closed she made out the impressions of at least three other men in the other room, all heavily armored.

She let a few moments pass as she waited for the nearest footsteps to fall away from the door. As the man on the other end walked, she could smell the faint odor of seasoned chicken. Arissa wondered if her mark was having his last meal along with the rest of his hired hands.

Only when she was certain the coast was clear did she lean her weight against the heavy frame and slide into the next chamber.

Unfortunately, unlike the rest of the fort, this chamber, larger than any of the others, was well-lit and all but devoid of debris. The doorway opened into a spacious room cut in two parts by a deep gap. To her side she could see stairs leading down into the lower level and ahead of her was a stone bridge connecting the two halves of the room. In addition, there were four men in heavy armor, two walking a perimeter of the room and two sitting at a table across the gap. Seated with the two men at the table was a very nervous looking Nord garbed in impressive ebony armor.

Swiftly but silently, Arissa made her way to the only dark corner of the room, which happened to be near the door. She pulled her cowl down low and her black silk scarf up high, attempting to cover as much of her pale skin as possible. Letting out a disgruntled sigh, she planned her approach.

No amount of stealth was going to get her across that bridge unnoticed, she knew. If she were able to dampen the lighting, then perhaps things would be more in her favor, but she couldn't figure out how to do that. Even if she were able to extinguish some of the torches, there was nothing stopping the mercenaries from shouting to their friends for help. Arissa had passed at least twice their number making her way to the main chamber and she didn't like the idea of facing all of them at once.

With stealth not an option, surprise was her only advantage. If she were quick enough to dispatch the guards before they could call for help and reach her quarry in time, then the other mercenaries wouldn't be a worry. One slip, however, and this would probably be her last assignment.

Slowly a sinister smile spread on her lips as the thought of death closed in on her. Never one to balk from a challenge, Arissa felt her interest rising. If nothing else, this would be fun.

As she slipped on her Grand Ring of Shadows – a ring with a powerful Chameleon enchantment – Arissa ran though a set of breathing exercises Lucien had taught her years ago. She knew the only was she was going to succeed was with a focused mind and body. Closing her eyes, she pictured a line of energy running down through the center of her body. With the image firmly in her mind, she concentrated all of her thoughts on that force and allowed it to fill her limbs. Properly centered, she opened her eyes and slid from her shadowy alcove.

In each hand she held a throwing dagger coated with poison and enchanted with the power of frost. She preferred frost to fire because victims set on fire tended to scream whereas a person frozen in place usually just collapsed into a pile of shivering limbs.

As one of the guards crossed the bridge and headed in her general direction, she stepped into his path and waited at the end of the path. When he was halfway across the bridge Arissa sprang into action.

In two quick leaps she covered the distance between them and launched one of her daggers straight at his throat. She smiled again as the blade appeared mid-air and penetrated deep into his neck. With a look of horror and surprise, the man fell to one knee, his armor clanking loudly on the stone.

Arissa didn't slow her pace one step as she stepped onto the man's protruding knee and hoisted herself up on his shoulder. She leapt high and fired off another of her daggers at the other patrolling sentry – who was running toward his fallen friend. Once again, her blade struck true and the guard fell backward as she came down with her full weight on his armored chest.

Poised in a crouch, Arissa reached over her head to draw on two more daggers strapped to her shoulders. In one fluid motion she launched the projectiles at the last two guards even as they began to rise from their seats then drew two more daggers from her lower back and sent them flying right behind the first pair. The first two blades dug deep into the men's foreheads, throwing their heads back and leaving their necks perfectly exposed for the next blades to slice through. The last two guards were dead before their bodies hit the ground.

With grim satisfaction, she pulled out the blade from the guard beneath her feet and watched as his life blood spilled freely onto the dusty floor. His blood ran in channels along the mortar between the stones, tracing out a bizarre and macabre pattern.

Her contracted target hadn't moved from his position at the table. As she stood, still balanced on the guard's steel cuirass, he continued to stare at her with eyes wide in shock. Each slow and deliberate step she took toward him caused his shoulders to flinch and left eye to twitch.

Arissa climbed the table with a graceful hop and fell into a crouch, another dagger in hand pressed against his damp neck. She could see his lips struggling to form words.

"I… I'll pay," he finally croaked.

Leaning in close, Arissa let her breath caress his cheek, smelling his perspiration and fear in the process. The stubble on his face stung her slightly, but she didn't really mind.

"Sithis, sends his regards," she whispered in his ear.

In a single sweep of her dagger, she sliced through most of his neck. Quickly, she pulled back and stared intently into his eyes as his life ebbed away. It didn't take long for him to die.

Her contract fulfilled, she reached into one of her pockets and pulled out a few nightshade flowers. With great care, she placed one of them on the Nord's dangling forehead. The others she tossed haphazardly on the bodies of the other guards. As she was retrieving her daggers Arissa was surprised when she came to the body of her first victim.

At some point the man had apparently pulled the blade free. Apparently he had tried to heal himself – as evidenced by the small potion vial in his hand – but had died before he could even take the elixir. Fascinated by the man's last, desperate act, Arissa crouched low and kissed him on the cheek.

He was attractive, she noted. With his strong jawline, full lips, and pronounced cheekbones, he had likely had his share of ogling women in his young lifetime. To think he had nearly survived her when so many others never came close.

Moving her lips to his ear, she lovingly whispered, "Almost."

After retrieving her dagger from his clenched fingers, she made her way to the door and removed her ring. Vicente had warned her that some Altmer possessed the ability to sense active enchantments at a distance, and she didn't want to risk alerting the battlemage she had passed coming in. Without the benefit of the ring, it took her nearly two hours to escape unnoticed. When she finally did slip through the outer door and into the cool breeze of the night air she was amazed no one had discovered the bodies.

Glad for the extra lead, she wasted no time in distancing herself from the ruined fort. She headed east for a bit then turned south towards Pell's Gate – taking care to avoid notice by the inhabitants. After some intense running, she managed to find her horse and quickly climbed up after changing out of her Brotherhood garb. Her hope was to be at least a few more miles away before anyone came looking for her.

With only one real path to Cheydinhal she spurred her mount northeast, avoiding the roads as much as possible. Several hours later, she passed an Ayleid ruin and found the Red Ring Road once more. After another hour she was at the great bridge that connected the eastern and western shores of the Upper Niben.

It wasn't until she had crossed the mighty bridge that she slowed her pace and eventually allowed her horse to rest. Covered in a thick lather of sweat, the horse let out a massive sigh when she climbed off and landed lightly on the ground. She had pressed him hard, she knew, but it was better to press the horse than her luck with the wrath of any pursuers. No need to take the chance that the hired hands would be dedicated to their former employer any further than simple gold inspired.

Her path had intentionally taken her northeast of the Gold Road and toward the Corbolo River. With confidence enough to breathe easier for the moment, she led her horse to the water's edge and allowed it to drink. After the brown gelding was done, she removed the saddle and supplies from his back and let him graze freely. She trusted enough in the horse's discipline that he wouldn't run away – he never had before.

Now that she had a moment to smell herself, Arissa realized that her mount wasn't the only one who could use the refreshment of the water. As she rubbed her hand across her brow she felt the grains of dried perspiration mixed with blood and wrinkled her nose. After running a surveying the area to ensure she was alone, she peeled off her clothes and dove head-first into the chill river.

She forced herself to stay under as her body adjusted to the temperature. Eventually, she swam to the surface and drew a deep breath before heading back under. Several times she repeated the procedure, each time testing to see how long she could hold her breath. When her exercises were done, she swam back to shore and retrieved a pouch and simple dagger from her belongings.

Inside the pouch was a powdered soap that she had obtained from Borba gra-Uzgash in Cheydinhal. It had coarse granules that helped scrape most of the grime off her as she rubbed it on. Also, it was mostly devoid of odor, which was better than smelling like a field of cinnamon in her opinion. Most of the other soaps Borba had offered were far too flowery or spicy in smell for Arissa's liking.

Once she felt suitably cleansed, she took the dagger and occupied herself with some personal grooming. As she ran the blade along her legs, her hand followed ensuring there were no bits of stubble she missed. Her grooming only ended when she was certain the only excess hair on her body was on her head.

Afterward, she soaked in the water again for some time before finally settling down for a meal. While she would have much preferred something heartier – maybe some of Malene's Wild Boar Stew! – crusty bread and sharp cheese were her staple of choice during her contracts. It was best to eat light while on the road, her father had taught her.

As she ate, Arissa arranged her belongings into a pile and sat back against them as she usually did. As the twin moons rose high, she gazed in awe, not for the first time, at their splendor. Wistfully she wondered what life would be like in the far reaches of the night sky. Was that really the realm of the Divines, as some claimed? Were its inhabitants filled with magic and secrets of the ages, speaking in terms so far and beyond their understanding that they could never hope to truly know them? Or was it something simpler than that?

Chewing on another bite of bread, she lost herself in her musings. When her thoughts returned, she was surprised to find herself holding a small silvery tiara. She didn't even remember taking it out.

Smiling to herself, she recalled that day so many years ago when that strange but kind eyed mage gave her the small token. Being a mage, he had probably thought nothing of such a simple trinket, although any other person could have sold it and eaten for a month on the coin. It was simple, she had to admit. The design was nothing spectacular, but the fact that the metal had retained a perfect shine even after all this time spoke volumes of its worth. To think he had just given it to her on a whim.

Arissa was curious about what had happened to him after nearly four years. Was he sitting in some library, with his bulbous nose in a book no one had read in a thousand years? Maybe he was surrounded by alembics and retorts busy scrutinizing measurements for some new potion he was working on to make people stick to walls or something equally bizarre. Or perhaps he was doing much as she was, sitting out in the wilderness somewhere and staring at the sky, thinking about that little Breton girl he had given a small circlet to all those years ago.

Foolish fancies of a simple girl.

"You never did tell me where you got that," a familiar voice spoke from behind her.

Her senses were on edge only for a moment as her mind reconciled the source of the voice. There was only one person in the whole of Cyrodiil that could sneak up on her.

"I told you, father," she whispered. "It was given to me before my rebirth."

"So you admit it is from a life that has already passed," Lucien accused softly. "Yet you cling to it as if it were a totem to something best left forgotten."

"I don't _cling_ to it," she defended herself. "It just something I would rather not throw away."

"It is a symbol," he said firmly, "… a symbol of a life apart from your brothers and sisters. A life away from _me_."

Arissa let out a dejected sigh.

"You always see more than there is to things, father," she shot back defiantly. "There's always _another_ layer below the obvious. Well not in this case."

"Isn't there?"

"No, there isn't."

Lucien chuckled.

It was a familiar argument they were having. Ever since he had discovered the small tiara in her things several years ago he had insisted that she get rid of it. Arissa knew that Lucien would never take it from her – that would be too simple and a sign of his weakness. Instead, his goal was to convince her to give up the item of her own will, then, and only then, would he have won the game.

And that's all it was to him, she knew, a game. Time and time again, her father would test her both in her physical and mental skills. He often told her while she excelled in the realm of the physical world, her mind was far from perfect in his eyes. She still life outside of her family to be of any worth. In his mind, it was a failing in her.

While the thought of disappointing Lucien pained her greatly, Arissa had never given in on this one point. As their time together passed, the circlet had become a symbol alright, but it wasn't for what he thought. Instead it had become a fixture for her independence.

She had given over her body and soul to Sithis, Lucien had told her, but refused to let go of her mind as well. A true member of the Dark Brotherhood was devoted to their dark father mind, body, and soul. Arissa only met two of those criteria.

Maybe it was Vicente's fault, she mused.

Throughout all their lessons together he had always stressed the importance of will over all. Perhaps those teachings had ingrained themselves further than he had anticipated. When she thought of it that way, Arissa began to understand why Lucien had been set against her spending her free time with the vampire mage.

Regardless of the reason, she refused to bend to her father's will in this one instance.

"How did you find me?" she asked. "How do you _always_ find me?"

"Oh, child of mine," he chastised her, "there is nowhere in this world that I could not find you. We are connected in a way you will never know."

She shook her head and grinned at his clever deflection.

"Was there another contract?"

"No," he answered. "It's just been some time since I last saw you."

Although his words held no accusation, Arissa still felt guilt creeping up on her. He was right! It had been nearly two months since they had last spoken. She wasn't being a very good daughter, Arissa realized.

"I'm sorry, father," she apologized. "I hadn't realized."

"Don't be," he replied. "There were plenty of times when I was unwillingly absent in the last few years. And I suspect as time passes it will be even more difficult for us to find any time together."

"Why do you say that?"

She heard the rustling of grass as he sat behind her.

After he was settled, he answered, "Vicente has told me you're quickly proving yourself within the ranks of the Brotherhood. He says your last few contracts were completed with almost no collateral damage. Even Ocheeva says it is skill not usually seen amongst a sister with the rank of Murderer."

"You trained me well, father," she admitted. "I took your lessons to heart, and they have saved me more than once."

"It's good to know that my words didn't fall upon deaf ears, despite appearances."

"Don't be so dramatic," she grumbled.

Arissa closed her eyes and smiled when she felt his fingers running through her hair. It was one of the few acts of compassion that he ever showed her, and she had always kept her hair long enough so that he could.

"Do you hate me, Arissa?" he asked.

Immediately, Arissa sat up and turned to hug her father tightly.

"Of course not," she breathed.

Lucien laughed helplessly and returned her embrace.

Arissa buried her face in his chest, enjoying the warmth of his body against the night's cool breeze. They held each other for some time before he spoke again.

"My daughter," he whispered after a time. "You will be the better of them all. You will strike from the shadows and claim armies of souls for Sithis. In time your very presence shall strike fear into the hearts of paupers and emperors alike. You will become the greatest assassin this world has ever seen."

Even as she felt pride in his confidence, Arissa could not help but feel a shiver run down her back when he spoke this way.

"None will be able to stand against us, and, one day, we will rule the Brotherhood and enforce Sithis' will throughout the land. All will live in fear of us. Our family will love us. And through all that…"

He chuckled again before finishing.

"And through all that... you'll _never_ get rid of that damned tiara, will you?"

In spite of herself, Arissa laughed.

* * *

**Author's Note: **Before you ask, YES, every story will end with Arissa hugging someone! Kidding. At the risk of offending the purists of the website, I will NOT be adhering strictly to the Dark Brotherhood's questline. I was initially, but after reading several other versions of the same quests (three on this site alone) I seriously doubt there is anything I can contribute to them. So rather than rehash yet ANOTHER version I'm just going to stick to original content. That's not to say they'll never be a part of the story, but more than likely they'll be restricted to flashbacks, recollections, or in a few instances key turning points in the storyline.

On an unrelated note, sorry for the long delay but my muse hasn't been very cooperative lately as you can probably tell from the length of this update. Unfortunately it doesn't look like the issue is going to resolve itself very soon. The main problem is I have five different storylines that I'm sorting through in my head (all with very different heroes) and I keep shifting among them while writing another. The goal is to eventually have the five heroes overlap as the Oblivion crisis concludes.


	4. Chapter 4: A Prize Unearthed

**Chapter 4: A Prize Unearthed **

"This is the part where you fall down and _bleed_ to death!" the Orc Vampire Matron shouted as she swung her mighty, two-handed Daedric axe. The blow, strong enough to sweep the head off any foe, missed its target and impacted against a stone column. A large portion of the chiseled stonework crumbled beneath the power of the attack leaving a deep gash.

"Ha ha!" Arissa goaded. "You move like a pregnant cow!"

The enraged undead Orc swung her axe again, this time in a downward chop. Nimble as a cat, Arissa somersaulted backwards, and easily avoided the deadly blow. Landing lightly on her toes, her two daggers were held at her sides as she crouched low with her legs coiled for another spring.

"Hold still you insect!" the matron shouted before hissing in anger. Again, she swung her two-handed axe, and again the agile assassin dodged.

Finally, Arissa began to breathe easier. After wading through a small army of vampires and militant Dunmer with relative ease, she had found herself face to face with the leader of the clan. With no means of stealth or surprise, Arissa had been relying on the matron's own thirst to make her clumsy and manageable. Unfortunately that hadn't been the case. While most of the matron's brethren had been near mad with bloodlust, their leader had proven to be more level-headed.

In the first few minutes of their encounter, she had known the Orc's skills with an axe were beyond her abilities. The matron's defense was perfect, and her attacks coordinated to flawless precision. Even Arissa was impressed at the woman's command of the normally unruly weapon. Impressed as she was, however, she was also more than a little annoyed. With such incredible skill there was no way she was going to get by the beast woman.

Only now, after nearly twenty minutes of near misses, aggressive taunting, and narrow escapes had the Breton assassin managed to whittle down the Orc's resolve. Even with the aid of several agility and restorative potions Arissa was beginning to feel fatigued from the encounter. If the matron didn't present her with an opening soon then she knew a hasty retreat would be in order.

One well-placed strike was all she would need. Knowing well the weaknesses of vampires, Arissa had been using her two fire-enchanted daggers. Although she had not chosen to carry them out of anticipation – as she never expected to encounter the creatures in Varsa Baalim – luckily they were part of her regular arsenal. Fortunately, with each dodge and evasion, the Orc was beginning to present Arissa with more opportunities as her attacks became more and more reckless.

Finally, she saw her chance.

The matron, now howling with rage, swept her axe horizontally. First she swung from her left to right, then, with amazing skill, she reversed back to her left. Her feet, however, were out of position, and the second swing placed her off-balance.

Seizing the opportunity, Arissa reversed her grip on the dagger in her right hand as she utilized all of her speed and stepped in underneath the Orc's arm. Finding the crease in the Daedric armor, she shoved her blade deep into the woman's armpit. As she released the enchantment flames sprung forth from the wound and into the undead body. Continuing her stride, Arissa soon found herself behind the Orc and she spun around and drove the dagger in her left hand deep into the creature's neck. Just as before, flames quickly enveloped the cut and spread throughout the woman's body. With what little strength she had left, Arissa threw all her weight against the matron's back and shoved her over the edge.

Now bathed in fire as the magic – fueled by her own undead tissue – engulfed her, the matron screamed in agony as she fell over the narrow path they had been dueling upon. By the time she hit the floor below, most of her body had been reduced to ash.

Still holding her daggers in a defensive position, Arissa looked down at the smoldering cinders of the matron's corpse. Only when she was sure there would be no further threat did she relax her stance. After looking around to make certain there were no more surprises hiding around the corner did she let out the breath she hadn't realized she'd been holding.

The encounter over, Arissa felt the adrenaline quickly leave her system. As exhaustion fell over her, she collapsed on her back and gasped for air. She was sweating profusely, and her leather armor was sticking to her body in several rather uncomfortable places.

Having explored most of the ruins herself, she hoped there was no more danger of being discovered or caught unawares for the moment. Utilizing the lapse in activity, she quickly unbuckled the straps of her armor and opened the front to let in the cooler air of the ancient ruins. With her water skin and other supplies outside the ruins, she had to make due with whatever relief she had. Granting herself further reprieve, she unwrapped the scarf from around her face and pulled off her hood as well.

Thankful for the moment of peace, Arissa took several deep breaths of the slightly stale cavern air and considered her situation. She had embarked on her little adventure several weeks ago. During her last contract in Bruma she had come across several rumors of a Daedric artifact which had recently been discovered. While normally dismissive of commoner banter the descriptions she had overheard had given the tale more credibility than most. While the person leading the excavation – a disgruntled Dunmer raising an army – was enough to deter most from attempting to steal the item, Arissa saw it only as a test of her skills. Of course, at the time, she had no way of knowing just how greatly her skills would be tested.

In the four days since she had entered the fort above she had not eaten much beyond a few small bites of flatbread and an apple. The meager portions had been "acquired" from the mess hall of the soldiers stationed in the fort above the ruins. They were all she dared risk lest a legion of mercenary recruits become aware of her presence. That and a few sips of stolen water had comprised her rations for the duration of her stay. As if her situation wasn't troublesome enough even if she survived acquiring the artifact, she would have to wade unseen through the army above to make her escape. It was only by the grace of Sithis that her presence had not been noticed above.

Of the three dozen or so mercenaries which had been dispatched to explore the ruins nearly a third of them had fallen to her blades or poisons. The rest had met their end at the hands of the vampiric cult which had made a home of the ruins. Unfortunately for her, vampire senses were far more attuned than mortal ones and she had not been able to sneak by any of their numbers. Of course whenever possible, she had led the undead creatures into the path of the mercenary scouting parties. Arissa was always happy to introduce people of varying cultures to each other… for the sake of diplomacy. Despite her numerous efforts, the two groups didn't seem to have much to say to each other except for a colorful exchange of shouted curses and demonstrations on the proper use of weapons. But she had tried, that was the important thing.

With one last deep breath, Arissa decided her moment of rest was over and fought the urge to groan as she sat up. Wrapping her face in the scarf once more, she slid into a familiar crouch and continued forward and down a small flight of stairs.

At the base of the steps she found a stone doorway leading further into the depths of the Valus Mountains. Stepping through she was surprised to find the passage littered with corpses. Most of the bodies had begun to progress through the stages of decay. The smell was almost overpowering, but Arissa was determined to continue on after coming so far.

Using well-trained and measured steps she made her way down yet another flight of winding stairs. Making no sound she focused on her own hearing to detect what lay ahead. When she reached the bottom of the second set of steps she was surprised to feel the smallest of breezes touch her cheeks. After days of nothing but stale air even the slightest hint of fresh air was a blessing. Adding only the smallest bit of haste to her steps, she moved more quickly but froze instantly when she heard a rambling voice ahead.

Her heart skipped a beat as she thought her presence had been detected but soon she relaxed as she realized the voice wasn't directed toward her. With her body pressed against the wall she crept silently into the room ahead. As the chamber came into view she almost gasped at what she saw.

In a room of crumbled stone and jagged black crystal was an upright coffin bearing the frozen body of a Nord warrior. His body was covered in impressive looking Daedric armor and by his stature alone, she could tell he was a formidable man in his time. The only apparent imperfection in his figure was the wide, gaping hole in his chest, where his armor and even ribs had been torn away to expose a still heart. Glancing around she saw the walls were covered in strange carvings and Daedric writing. Scattered throughout the chamber were small fissures venting volcanic ash into the room. The stink of sulfur was strong and combined with the stench of rotting corpses the odor nearly stung her eyes.

Standing in front of the frozen Nord was a figure garbed in red mages robes. After ranting at the warrior figure he would pace back and forth several times before stopping in the same spot only to rant again. Over and over he repeated the strange activity and Arissa planned her movements in time with his own. Utilizing the man's repetitions she was able to sneak into the chamber proper without notice.

Near a small fire she found a bedroll and journal lying out in the open. Positioning herself out of sight, she snatched the small book and read through its contents. Mostly it was a retelling of the discovery of the chamber and though it did help fill in some of the blanks as to the nature of the room otherwise it wasn't very useful.

After replacing the journal where she had found it Arissa scanned the room once more. Finally, she found what she had been looking for. Suspended in mid-air behind a metal grating was a dagger of unique design. The blade resembled the red, obsidian-like formations in the room but, unlike the other material it seemed to glow with an inner fire that pulsated periodically. Gazing at the glowing blade, she became transfixed by it and felt a strange pull within her. Little by little she began to hear strange whispering in her head followed by a low, rumbling laughter. Shaking her head suddenly, she tried to block out the unnerving words lest they distract her from the task at hand.

She turned back to the man in the room then, and planned her next move.

Killing the Dunmer flat out was out of the question, she figured. Arissa knew very well the pacing mer was a former Telvanni wizard, and exile or not, she knew enough of their abilities to be wary in her attack. Even from where she stood she could feel the magic emanating from him. His very steps sent waves through the tides of mystical energy that swirled throughout the chamber.

As usual, surprise would be her best weapon.

For better or worse, the wizard suddenly solved her problem for her. With one final shout of rage, he ran toward the metal grating separating the dagger from his grasp and shook the divider with all his might. She could feel the magicka seeping into him as he used magic to fuel his efforts. So focused was he on his brute force attempt, however, he never noticed as the Nord warrior began to move.

Initially she believed it to be a trick of her imagination, but it soon became apparent her eyes were not deceiving her when the man leaned forward and stepped from the coffin. He reached behind him and brandished a Daedric axe before turning toward the wizard. It wasn't until he had crossed half of the distance to the mer that the other noticed his presence.

The laughter in her mind began to rumble again as the Nord closed in on the unsuspecting wizard. The metal grate rang loud as the Daedric steel scraped against it.

Somehow, the Dunmer realized he was no longer alone and managed to duck just in time to avoid having his head lopped off by the Nord's wicked looking axe.

"So this is your test, Dagon?" he asked aloud. "You send a failed champion against me? How insulting!"

Again the Nord warrior swung his axe and again the wizard avoided the attack. Spinning away, the wizard placed several yards of distance between them and began to chant softly.

As his opponent readied his spell the Nord turned to face him and, with greater speed than Arissa would have thought possible, launched his axe straight at the Telvanni's chest. In less time than it took to blink, the vaulted weapon hit its mark and most of the blade disappeared into the mer wizard.

Confusion spread across his face as the exile fell to his knees. He looked at the protruding shaft and back to the Nord, bewilderment still playing through his features.

"Damn you, Faythung," he whispered in a garbled and watery voice before collapsing backwards. Slowly, his head slid sideways and blood poured out of his mouth. As it pooled next to him Arissa watched in fascination as it stained his red robes a deeper crimson.

Expressionless and with cold, dead eyes, the Nord walked over to the corpse and unceremoniously withdrew his axe. A chilling shiver ran down her spine when he rose up and turned to face her directly and she thought her head would split in two as the chuckling in her mind became insane, howling laughter. It was only sheer instinct that made her dodge to her left when she saw the Nord draw his axe over his shoulder once more.

Rather than ricochet off the crystal and stone, the axe was thrown with so much force it actually embedded itself several inches into the wall. Small shards flecked off and cut her cheek as the blade missed her head by less than an inch. The adrenaline now shooting through her veins helped to shut out the voice in her head once and for all.

Thinking, foolishly perhaps, that the Nord was now vulnerable without his weapon Arissa launched forward from her hiding place and drew two daggers. The Nord stood in place with his hands at his sides and made no move to defend himself as her blades closed in on his throat. She actually smiled in that moment.

Her grim glee quickly turned to shock when she felt the warrior's gauntleted fists close on her wrists. With a grip like a vice, he squeezed and twisted both her wrists. The pain was unbearable and she couldn't help but scream out as her hands involuntarily released their grips on her weapons. In a single blurred movement, the Nord swept her arms out wide and swung his head forward. By some miracle of Sithis Arissa managed to maintain consciousness as his forehead collided with the bridge of her nose.

With the taste and smell of blood assaulting her senses, the Nord dropped her to the cold stone floor in a heap. Though still aware, Arissa found it difficult to focus or move her lethargic limbs. When she did manage to manipulate one of her arms she felt another wave of pain sweep through her and she realized that her right arm had been dislocated at the shoulder.

Now with her strong arm out of commission, Arissa began to wonder if she would survive this encounter. She knew, however, that if she dawdled any longer there would be no question.

Steeling herself for the pain she drew her right arm in close to her body and scrambled to her feet. The sound of metal being wrenched from stone told her where the Nord had disappeared to for the moment. Still nursing her right arm, she pulled another dagger from her belt with her left hand.

Her head was swimming and she staggered slightly as the Nord turned to face her again, his Daedric axe in hand once more. In a feeble attempt at intimidation, she held her one dagger in a defensive position. Hunched over and bleeding as she was, however, she doubted a lame rabbit would have had much fear at the sight of her, let alone an undead Nord warrior.

Arissa wondered if magic would be effective against her opponent. In her present state, though, it was doubtful she could summon up even the weakest illumination spell. Also, considering she had not touched magic since the incident with Vicente several years back Arissa dismissed the idea almost immediately.

So she would use her wits and wiles against him. She almost laughed aloud at the thought. Battered, weakened, and nursing what had to be a broken arm Arissa closed her eyes and thought on all that her father had taught her. Inhaling deeply, Arissa ignored the stink of sulfur and stagnant air and focused on the traces of fresh air. Her tongue slipped out and caressed her lips while she reveled in the salty, metallic taste it found. As the flavor of her own blood ran through her she felt herself become physically aroused and she let out a soft moan.

The moment seemed to last forever, but she took hold of herself and focused again.

"_You are not a cudgel, my daughter_," she heard Lucien's words in her thoughts.

"I am a scalpel," she whispered.

"_You do not fear…_"

"I overcome."

"_If your enemy is stronger…_"

"I am faster."

"_Remember, a dagger in the heart kills a king as easily as a pauper…_"

Her eyes popped open as she repeated the words, "… a dagger in the heart."

Immediately her attention went to the now beating heart centered in the Nord's chest cavity. It had been still before! She had only a moment to formulate a plan as the warrior – now only a step away from her – swung his axe level with her shoulders.

Twisting her torso and head sideways, Arissa managed to duck just an inch below the blade as it passed over her. He recovered quickly, however, and attacked again. Once more, however, Arissa's years of training put her a fraction of a step ahead of the Nord and he missed by an inch. Again and again he swept his blade towards, over, and at her, but each time he met only air as her body twisted and slid away.

Eventually her moment came, and she managed to deflect the Nord's axe wide with her left hand. Bracing herself for the shot of pain she knew would come, Arissa drew a dagger with her right hand and stabbed the blade deep into the undead warrior's heart. For a moment she locked eyes with the Nord and she felt a surge of excitement course through her as his face showed emotion for the first time since his awakening. Surprise… and pain.

But Arissa wasn't done. With a whisper of a word, she unleashed the full fury of the blade into the heart of the Nord and she watched in fascination as the flames washed over the warrior's body. Enraged, he threw his arm forward and pushed her away.

His anger had lent him strength and Arissa felt the full force of it as she slammed hard into the wall several feet behind her. As her head collided with the hard stone she almost lost consciousness again, but through sheer force of will she managed to keep her wits about her. With a wicked smile on her lips, she saw the flames flicker and blink out around the Nord's body as the enchantment died. The damage had been done, though, and almost half of the man's face had been burnt to expose the tissue underneath the skin.

Even as the pain shot through her, Arissa's macabre grin continued as she raised her right arm and displayed her prize to the undead Nord. Impaled on her dagger the warrior's heart pulsed one last time before falling still.

"Did I steal your heart, Faythung?" she asked with a sinister sparkle in her eye.

Faythung said not a word, but instead fell to his knees and dropped his axe as he covered his gaping chest with both hands. From the wound, blood began to flood through his clasped fingers and onto the floor below.

Arissa leaned against the wall and watched the spectacle with awe as the undead Nord's lifeforce spilled out of him.

It took less than a minute for him to fall forward in a loud clatter of Daedric steel. Still fascinated with the sight, she stared as his body slowly began to turn to ash and crumble into dust. After another minute all that remained was the rotting heart on her blade.

Unable to bear the pain any longer, Arissa let her right arm drop and heard the heart softly plop onto the stones as gravity pulled it loose. Slowly, she slid down the wall until she was sitting on the floor.

With her left hand she began searching through her pockets for a healing potion. Her search proved fruitless as she felt only broken shards of the vials in her pouches. Apparently the last of her potions had been broken in the fight with Faythung.

Groggily, she looked over at Frathen Drothan's body before dragging herself towards the dead wizard. When she reached his corpse she noted – with some amusement – that he still had the look of surprise etched on his face. With a bemused smirk she searched through the mage's robes until she found what she was looking for. A small bundle containing several small vials was concealed within Drothan's right sleeve.

Careful to study the color, odor, and clarity of the mixtures, Arissa selected one that looked particularly promising. After uncorking the top, she threw her head back and swallowed the contents in one gulp. Even so, she could not help but cough at the foul aftertaste the potion left.

Terrible as it may have tasted, she was impressed with the potency of the elixir as its healing power swept through her. The nicks and cuts she had received were the first to vanish and she felt some of her strength return after a few moments. When she flexed her right arm, Arissa discovered that though it was still tender and slightly stiff, most of the pain from the break had subsided. She was just glad it was useable again.

Wiping the sweat from her brow she rose to her feet but swayed a bit as a wave of nausea washed over. Although the potion had done much to heal her, she knew even its power couldn't undo all the damage Faythung had caused. Only time could do that, or the skills of a true healer. It was enough, though. For now…

After taking a few breaths to steady herself, Arissa turned towards the far end of the room and headed toward her prize. Still suspended in mid-air Mehrunes Razor spun in place lazily. With each rotation the glint of the strange metal reflected back in a dizzying dance of colors. As she neared, the deep, rumbling voice in her head started up again. This time it wasn't laughing, but chanting in a Daedric tongue.

Arissa felt her breathing quicken slightly as her heart began to race and with each step the voice became louder and more hastened. When she reached out to touch the metal grate the rumbling in her head became so invigorated it made her head spin. Suddenly feeling as if she were suffering from too much ale, she still managed to keep her feet under her.

Upon making contact with the metal partition it immediately dropped down into the stone floor, clearing the way to the floating dagger. Feeling the sweat beads running down her back, Arissa reached out and took hold of the handle.

The voice bellowed anew in her mind and threatened to shatter her very skull. Even though she was screaming in pain, Arissa refused to let go of the blade she had fought so hard to obtain.

"The dagger is _mine_, Dagon!" she shouted to gritted teeth.

In response the voice in her head roared with laughter.

Refusing to back down, she shouted again, "_I earned it!_"

Still unwilling to give up the dagger so easily, the voice growled a challenge then began to chant once more.

Arissa could feel her skin blistering as Mehrunes Razor gave off bursts of heat along her fingers. At the same time, she could feel the blade tugging on her as if it were trying to pull her very soul into its depths.

But she would not be outdone, not after coming so far.

"I waded through dozens of soldiers-" she shouted.

The voice hissed.

"- a den of vampires-"

The voice laughed.

"- and I bested your champion!"

The voice cried out with glee.

"You won't deny me the Razor!"

With every ounce of will she could muster, Arissa reached out to the mystical energy. Tidal forces of magicka swept through the room as she challenged the will of the Razor with her own. As the room began to rumble, the stone beneath her feet cracked, and large chunks of the ceiling collapsed in. The crystal pillars fell over and shattered on the hard floor.

The Razor began to vibrate and the heat became stronger, but Arissa was relentless and refused to let go.

The room vanished as the heat of flame and stink of sulfur overcame her. She found herself standing in a realm of fire as the air and even clouds above seemed to burn. Torrents of wind seemed to appear from the blade, threatening to force her away and into the fires. Both her and the Razor were floating in a sea of infernos and still clutching to the Razor Arissa knew if she were to let go now she would be lost to the flames forever. But she didn't know how long she could hold on as the fire began to close in around her, hoping to consume her entirely.

Reaching deep within herself, she summoned forth all her strength and called upon the protection of Sithis. She could feel his dark hands enclosing as her calls were answered and her wicked grin returned as robes of black ash fell over her whole body. Although the fires continued to rage, they could not touch her, and not even the heat was a hindrance any longer.

"The Razor is mine, Dagon!" she shouted again.

She almost did let go as the figure of the Daedric Prince of Destruction appeared before her. Three of his four arms were held out wide as his hands balled into fists. The fourth hand was clutching tightly to the blade of the Razor.

Bathed in fire and breathing out gusts of sulfur, Mehrunes opened his massive jaws and roared. His glowing red eyes flared forth as he looked at her. He swung one of his mighty fists toward her, and for a moment Arissa thought she would be shattered by the blow. Before the attack even came close to her, however, a tentacle of ash swept out of her robes and caught the Prince's wrist. With a grip far beyond the power of any mortal, the tentacle held tight to the Prince of Destruction. Mehrunes pulled and pushed with all his might, but neither his arm nor the tentacle moved.

When the Prince realized he could not break the Lord of the Void's hold he looked to Arissa again and roared with rage.

"_**You dare to challenge a Daedric Prince?**_" he growled in a voice that boomed through her ears and mind.

Shaking off the effects of Mehrunes' voice, Arissa only smiled wickedly before answering, "I dare and _delight_."

In response the Prince of Destruction howled again and spat out flames straight toward her small form. Rather than shrink from the attack, she trusted in the power of the Dark Father and watched – with some amusement – as the fire evaporated several feet in front of her. Still, she felt her connection to the Void strain when the blast impacted with the shield around her and she knew then that a prolonged encounter would invariably end in her death.

"The Razor will be mine, Dagon!" she shouted again.

"_**The Razor is mine to give!**_" the Daedric Prince contended.

"And I earned it! It will claim countless souls in my hands! Far more than any other who held it before me!"

"_**All in the name of Sithis!**_"

Arissa's eyes widened as she realized why Mehrunes Dagon was unwilling to give her the Razor. Yes, she would take life after life with the blade, but the souls would not go to the Prince of Destruction if she were claiming them in the name of Sithis! Changing tactics, she spoke again.

"Yes!" she admitted. "The souls I take will belong to my Dark Father and Lord of the Void, but all will know the blade that took those souls! None will mistake Mehrunes Razor for any simple weapon! They will all know it and its father!. And as the blood drips from its edge the mortal world will tremble that much more at the name of Mehrunes Dagon, the Daedric Prince of Destruction! For they will come to see that even in the shadows lurks the might of the Lord of Oblivion!"

Arissa could see Mehrunes' expression begin to change as her words took effect. Slowly the look of rage and hate was replaced with one of glee. The Prince's hate of the land of Mundus was well known to all and she had guessed right in assuming he would delight in furthering the people's fears of his name in any way he could.

"_**Then take my Razor, daughter of Sithis!**_" he bellowed with insane laughter. "_**And make sure the world knows with what blade you claim their souls!**_"

With those words, he released his grip on the Razor and Arissa felt her body being thrown back into the mortal world. Her head spinning she fell to the stone floor of the cavern and retched violently. Spewing out what little sustenance was left in her stomach, the disorientation only seemed to worsen and she had to take several deep breaths before being able to stand again.

Hardly believing what she had just done, Arissa stared down at her hand and turned Mehrunes Razor around. The handle still felt warm to the touch but she no longer felt the sense of anger and hate she had before. In fact, the blade seemed rather eager to be held and she thought she could even feel a sense of thirst coming though the grip. The Razor had accepted her as its master and was fervent in its desire to serve.

Taking another series of labored breaths she finally managed to center herself and slid the dagger into her belt. She figured she would have to have a sheath made for it when she returned to Cheydinhal but that shouldn't prove difficult. In the meantime, however, she would have to make her way out of the ruins, through the fort, and past a score of Drothmeri soldiers before she could even consider reaching the safety of the Sanctuary.

A sound from behind startled her suddenly and she turned to see the rear portion of the Razor's small chamber fall into the ground and reveal a hidden passage. Drawing the dagger, she slowly crept through the narrow tunnel and made her way towards the sound of dripping water. After only a few minutes of walking she found a cavern with a small pond. From beneath the surface of the water she could see several tendrils of light pouring through.

Replacing the Razor in her belt, she made her way towards the pond and lowered herself into the water. Once she had reached the far wall, she took a deep breath and swam through the narrow underwater passage towards the light. As she progressed the rays of sun became brighter and brighter until she had to squint her eyes against them. Her breath had nearly run out when she broke the surface and breathed in the sweet open air.

With the whole ordeal behind her, her body quickly began to ache and her arms protested with each stroke she took towards the shore. When she finally pulled herself up onto the stony beach nearly all the strength had left her. Exhausted as she was, her skin was screaming for release and she spent several moments peeling off her sweat-hardened leather armor. Only then did she allow herself a reprieve and collapse back onto the thoroughly uncomfortable rocky shore.

Arissa languished there for some time breathing heavily but enjoying the feeling of the soft breeze, clean air, and cool water against her skin. The sun broke through the thick canopy of trees behind her, but most of the area around her remained in the shade. She closed her eyes while she listened to the sounds of nature as birds cheerily chirped their songs and the leaves rustled in the light breeze.

Playing through the events of the past few days in her mind, Arissa began to laugh as she realized how many times she had been close to death. Just why it was amusing was something not even she understood, but she chuckled through her memories nonetheless.

When her fit of mirth was done she reached out towards her bundled leather coverings and pulled forth the Razor. Twisting the blade to and fro she caught the few rays of sun that filtered through the canopy above. With each turn the dagger glared momentarily as the rays hit and Arissa smiled as she continued to handle it. As she watched the glint of light run along the blade's edge her breathing took on a more sensual tone.

Unable to help herself she reached out with one finger and stroked the edge lightly. She knew fully well that even the smallest cut could wrench her soul from her body and shatter it to oblivion before being tossed into the Void for all eternity. It was that very thought, however, that aroused her so. Being this close to death after surviving so much was almost enough to bring her to climax and she spent several more moments admiring the Razor's beauty before clutching it close to her body.

Curling into a ball, Arissa held her prize tight and fell into a peaceful sleep as she dreamed of the scores of souls she would claim for her Dark Father with Mehrunes Razor.

* * *

**Author's Note:** Aw, she's just like an angel when she's sleeping, isn't she? A demented, borderline insane angel with a dagger fetish... but an angel nonetheless. On another note...

Oi this took FOREVER to write! You would not believe how many days I spent staring at the screen with only a cramped butt, sore fingers, a worn out DELETE key, and a single paragraph to show for it. As I've told several of the folks who have been kind enough to review "Sister of Shadows," Arissa is one of the most difficult characters I've ever written for. She is so far beyond my normal "comfort zone" both in style and thought that I always feel like a beguiled tourist in a foreign county when I start up a new chapter. Just to get into the mindset of her disturbed mind I have to listen to my younger brother's Marylin Manson CDs (and I hate his music) before and while I write. Even then I sometimes end up injecting quirky characters or cheesy lines that proliferate my usual style. I'm wondering how much longer the DELETE and BACKSPACE keys will last.

Don't worry, though, I'm not giving up on this story. It's a necessary challenge that I intend to continue to face. Strange as it may seem to **me**, quite a few people seem to enjoy Arissa's adventures as - even after a month of not updating - people continue to mark this story for notification. So I'll just say again, thanks for reading y'all and I hope you continue to enjoy as the story and Arissa develop.


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